The Strange Land

by Hammond Innes

  He glanced at me quickly, his eyes sharp and alert, measuring my mood. But he drove on. It was then that I became conscious of Jan’s increasing restlessness in the back. He kept twisting round and peering out through the rear window. Once, when I turned round, I met his eyes. ‘Do something!’ he said. He looked worried. He was thinking of Karen back there with Julie in the bus.

  We turned a bend that overlooked the gorge and began to climb a straight stretch of track beside a shallow rock cliff down which rainwater streamed, glistening blackly. ‘Do something to stop him, can’t you?’ he said urgently. We were coming up to the point where the piste hair-pinned round the very head of the gorge. I caught hold of Bilvidic’s arm. ‘You must stop,’ I shouted at him. ‘If you don’t stop…’ There was a blinding flash of lightning and the crash of thunder right overhead.

  ‘Attention, Georges!’ Bilvidic threw my hand off as he called the warning to his assistant. I heard Jan struggling in the back and then I reached for the ignition key. Bilvidic caught hold of my hand. The car swayed wildly. We were coming up to the bend now and as I flung him off and grabbed again for the key, the wheels hit a stone and suddenly the rock wall of the cliff closed in against my window. There was a crash and I was flung forward, striking my head against the windscreen. The car stopped dead. ‘Imbecile!’ Bilvidic screamed at me. ‘Imbecile!’

  I struggled back into my seat, momentarily dazed. ‘Look what you have done!’ Bilvidic’s face was white with anger. All the right-hand wing and the front of the bonnet were crumpled.

  ‘If you’d stopped when I asked you — ‘ I said.

  He gave an order to his assistant. It wasn’t really necessary for he already had Jan pinned down by his arm. The starter whined. But nothing happened. Bilvidic kept his finger on the button. The motor went on and on, but the engine didn’t fire. It was completely dead. The rain was torrential, water pouring everywhere, glistening on the rocks, running in little streams. Now that the engine was silent, we could hear it: the hiss of the rain, the drumming of it on the tin body of the car, the little rushing noises of water carrying small stones down the mountain.

  And then suddenly all movement ceased inside the car. The rain had lifted slightly and we could see the bend ahead. A brown flood of water was pouring across it, frothing white as it plunged on down the gorge. All the water from the slopes that formed the very beginning of the gorge was collected in the bottom of the V to form a torrent that was slowly eating into the piste. Already there was a jagged gap and, whilst we sat and watched, it widened as the rocks that formed its foundation were shifted and rolled down into the gorge. There had been a culvert there once, but that was gone, or else the weight of water was too great. And every minute the volume of it and the noise of it seemed to grow.

  Jan began struggling again in the back. ‘Let me go!’ he shouted. ‘Philip. We must get back to the bus.’

  Bilvidic gave an order to his assistant. One of the rear doors of the car was thrust open and I saw Jan standing there in the rain, staring back down the piste. ‘In all the years I have lived in Morocco,’ Bilvidic said, ‘I have never known a storm like this.’ He got out of the car then. He had given up all hope of reaching Casablanca. The piste was hopelessly cut. It would take several days to repair it. I scrambled across the driving seat and got out. ‘I think we should get back and stop Mademoiselle Corrigan from coming up,’ Bilvidic said.

  I nodded. ‘Come on!’ Jan called to me. He had already started off down the piste. Bilvidic and his assistant were searching in the car for their raincoats. I started to run after Jan, splashing through the water that ran almost ankle-deep down the rutted surface of the track. I was soaked through and steaming by the time I caught up with him. Side by side we went back down the piste, loping down with long strides, our shoes slithering and squelching through the mud and water. Neither of us spoke. We were both intent on getting back down the mountain as fast as possible. The rain died away, but we scarcely noticed it. We were hurrying down through a dead world of mist and streaming rock, and the sound of water was all about us.

  The mist gradually lightened and a gleam of warmth softened the blackness of the mountain sides. A wind sprang up, the mist swirled streamers over our heads, and then abruptly it cleared and we were in bright sunshine. All the wet, glistening landscape of rock smiled at us. But above and behind us the sky was black with storm.

  And then we saw the bus. It was caught on a bend far below us. The sound of its engine, revving violently, came up to us faintly on the wind, an angry sound like a buzz-saw. But we lost it almost immediately in the roar of a small avalanche of stone on the other side of the gorge.

  ‘The sooner we’re out of these mountains the better,’ Jan panted.

  We had reached the section that had only just been repaired. All along under the cliff face little cascades of rock had built themselves up into small piles and the outer edge of the new-made piste was already sliding away into the gorge. Kasbah Foum was picked out in sunshine as we had first seen it and from far below came the steady, insistent roar of water.

  We finally found the bus at the next bend. It had slewed half across the track, its wheels deep in mud. Karen was kicking rocks under the spinning tyres as Julie revved the engine. The engine died away as they saw us coming down the track towards them. Karen stood quite still, almost breathless, as though she couldn’t believe it was true.

  Jan had stopped. I glanced back over my shoulder. Bilvidic and his assistant weren’t in sight yet. They knew we couldn’t escape. ‘Listen, Philip.’ Jan gripped by arm. ‘I’m going back to Kasbah Foum. The whole valley is cut off now. It may be several days …’ He was staring down towards Karen. ‘In two days we might have that shaft opened up.’

  ‘That won’t do you much good,’ I said. ‘Not now.’

  ‘Who knows?’ He looked up at me and he was smiling. He seemed suddenly to have found himself. It was as though at this moment, with his wife standing there waiting for him to come to her, anything was possible. ‘I’ll take Karen with me,’ he said. ‘At least we’ll have a little time together….’ He glanced back up the track. The rain was closing in again and visibility was lessening. Then he started down towards the bus. ‘Karen!’ he called. ‘Karen!’

  She came running to meet him then. They were both running and he was calling her name and she was answering him, her eyes shining, her face suddenly quite beautiful. They met in the rain and the mud there and he caught her in his arms, hugging her to him.

  And then they parted, almost guiltily, as though they hadn’t a right to be so happy. They stood there, looking at each other a little shyly, their hands locked, talking quietly.

  I turned away, looking down towards Kasbah Foum. I could just see the top of the watch tower. The tumbled rocks of the mountainside would be hard going. Then the rain swept over the tower, blotting it out. ‘You two had better get going,’ I said. ‘It’s a goodish way to the camp.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll make it before dark,’ Jan answered. He said it as though he were going on a picnic, his voice was so full of happiness.

  ‘What do you want me to tell Bilvidic?’

  ‘Tell him Monsieur Wade has gone down to Kasbah Foum.’ He laughed, but I knew he meant it. He was looking up at the curtain of rain that was sweeping over us and there was an obstinate set to his mouth. Then he called to Karen who had run back to the bus and was speaking urgently to Julie. Jan ran down to her and took her hand, and together they crossed the Piste and dropped on to the steep slope of the mountainside.

  ‘Don’t forget, please,’ Karen called back to Julie.

  In a moment the two of them had disappeared into the driving mist of rain. ‘What happened up there?’ Julie called out to me from the cab of the bus. ‘Couldn’t you get through?’

  I climbed in beside her and was in the middle of explaining to her about the crash and the piste being washed away when a voice hailed us out of the rain. It was Bilvidic. He was panting and his thinning hair was plastere
d down by the rain. ‘Where’s Wade?’ he demanded, his eyes searching the roadway and the limited area of mountainside visible in the downpour. He wrenched open the door of the bus. ‘Where is he?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘He’s gone to Kasbah Foum,’ I told him.

  ‘I don’t believe you. Why should he do that? He cannot go down the mountain in this weather. Georges!’ His assistant came running and he ordered him to search the vicinity. ‘The fool!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘He cannot go far in this rain. He cannot sleep on the mountain.’ He looked at Julie. ‘And where is Madame Kavan? Why is she not with you ?’

  I started to explain, but Julie stopped me. ‘She’s not very well,’ she told him. ‘She’s resting.’

  ‘Where?’ Bilvidic demanded suspiciously and he began to climb into the bus.

  ‘Non, non, monsieur,’ she said quickly. ‘I cannot allow you to disturb her. She is lying down on my bed in the rear compartment. She is quite exhausted, poor thing.’ And then she added, ‘It was a great shock to her to discover that that man is not her husband. She had hoped … You understand, monsieur?’

  Bilvidic nodded, clicking his tongue sympathetically. ‘Of course, mademoiselle. I should have realised.’ He jumped back on to the piste and began to walk up it, shouting, ‘Wade! Wade!’

  I turned to Julie then. ‘Why did you say that, about Karen?’

  ‘She asked me to. Bilvidic would be suspicious if he knew she’d gone off to Kasbah Foum with a man who is supposed to be a stranger to her.’

  ‘It’s madness,’ I said.

  Julie shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was what she wanted, anyway.’

  That meant it was what Jan wanted. ‘So he’s determined to go through with it,’ I said and leaned back in the seat, staring at the water streaming down the piste and wondering what would be the end of it all. The storm was passing now and in a moment there was a gleam of sunshine. Bilvidic abandoned the search then. ‘He cannot get out of the valley, unless he walks. And if he does that one of the Military Posts will soon be notified.’ He stood for a moment staring down towards Kasbah Foum. Then he turned abruptly. ‘Now we will go back to the Post. I must phone the Chef de Territoire.’

  With him guiding me, I started to back the bus down the hill. There was no room to turn and I had to go on backing until we reached the level sand at the foot of the mountains. And there we bogged down. The piste was a sea of mud, and even the sand beside it was impassable, for it was layered with two inches of glutinous paste that filled the treads of the tyres.

  Finally Bilvidic left with his assistant for the Post. It was beginning to get dark and Julie and I watched the two Frenchmen go, sitting in the bus in our stockinged feet, thankful we hadn’t got to trudge three miles through that mud.

  We spent the night where we were, and in the morning the sun shone out of a clear sky. The air was clean and fresh after the rain. We did the chores and then sat around waiting for the piste to dry, not talking much, just enjoying the sense of being alone. It was the first time Julie and I had been alone together and I think we both felt that these were precious, stolen hours. ‘You might have been in Casablanca now,’ Julie said once. ‘I loathe Casablanca.’

  Everybody loathes Casablanca. The thought of the place emphasised the clean beauty of this desert country. The fact that we were cut off here gave it an unreal quality. I glanced at her, seeing the smooth, clear-cut line of her features, the black hair swept back and softly curving to her shoulders. She looked as fresh and sparkling as the day. ‘When we’ve got ourselves out of the mess we’re in, I’d like to come down here again and travel through this country.’

  She looked at me. ‘Like this?’ And I knew she meant the two of us and the old bus. She smiled. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’ And she looked away again towards the mountains.

  The desert sand dried quickly and by midday we were able to travel on it. As I drove across the open space between the forts, I saw that the French truck was still parked outside the Bureau. Its bonnet was up and both the orderly and Bilvidic’s assistant were working on the engine. There was a big crowd gathered by the ruins of the souk. They stared at us in silence as we drove by, a sullen, menacing group. And as we skirted Ksar Foum-Skhira along the edge of the palmerie there seemed a brooding stillness. There was nobody drawing water at the wells and, apart from a few children, nobody moved outside the walls.

  ‘The village looks deserted,’ Julie said. ‘It’s too quiet.’ Her voice sounded taut and strained and I remembered her reaction on our first arrival.

  ‘They’re short of food,’ I said. ‘That’s all. As soon as the piste is open again and the food trucks — ‘

  ‘It isn’t that. Something’s happened. They wouldn’t all be gathered round the souk like that if it hadn’t.’

  I thought her sudden change of mood was due to the fact that in a few minutes now we should have rejoined Jan and Karen and that the reality of the situation would have closed round us again. ‘I’d rather be here than in Casablanca anyway,’ I said, trying to make a joke of it.

  But all she said was, ‘I wish Legard were here.’

  The camp looked empty when we reached it. The sides of the tents had been rolled up; clothes and bedding were laid out to air in the sun. The stream was much wider now, a surging flood of rustred water. As we got down, Karen appeared at the entrance to the cook tent and waved to us. I barely recognised her. She was wearing a pair of Ed White’s khaki trousers and a bush shirt several sizes too large for her. She was barefoot, trousers rolled up almost to her knees and the waist held in by a broad leather belt. ‘You look like a castaway,’ Julie said.

  She laughed. ‘I’m cooking. Isn’t it wonderful!’ She tossed back her hair, her eyes sparkling. I tried to see in her the girl who had sat waiting in Jose’s cafe in Tangier. But it was impossible. She was somehow different, more alive, almost beautiful. ‘Where’s your husband?’ I asked.

  ‘He is up in the gorge.’ The laughter died out of her eyes. ‘And please, you must not call him my husband. He has told Ed that his name is Wade. We are sleeping in different tents and we came here together only because we got separated from the rest of you coming down the mountain.’ She hesitated. ‘I have to be very careful not to give Jan away. I keep my eyes on the ground and never look at him when he is here. It is not easy after so long.’

  ‘Good God!’ I said. I was appalled at the self-control required. It shocked me that he’d asked it of her. ‘And what about Ed?’ I asked. ‘Is he convinced?’

  ‘I .don’t know whether he is convinced or not. He doesn’t say much. He thinks only of the work up there in the gorge. I don’t think he cares.’

  ‘Jan’s being a fool,’ I said. ‘You know about this body they’ve found. You realise the risk he’s running?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. I realise.’

  ‘Have you talked to him about it?’

  ‘Yes, we have talked.’

  ‘And you didn’t try to dissuade him?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated, and then said, ‘Please. You must try to understand. They think Jan Kavan is dead. It is the answer to everything.’ She stared up into my face, her eyes pleading. ‘You saved his life. You got him out of Tangier. You must help him now.’

  ‘How?’ I asked. ‘What does he want me to do?’

  From the entrance to the gorge came the muffled thud of an explosion. Karen turned her head sharply, an anxious expression on her face.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Julie asked.

  ‘Blasting. He and the American. They have cleared the entrance to the mine and they are blasting to break up the rock falls inside the shaft so that they can clear it away by hand. He warned me what they were doing, but I don’t” like it. When we came down last night we went too far to the right and had to come down the shoulder of the gorge. All the rock there is crumbling away and the stones kept moving under our feet.’

  ‘Have you been up into the gorge?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a shudder. ‘
I don’t like the place. It is cold and a little frightening. I prefer to cook.’ She said it with a little laugh. And then she looked at me, her face serious again. ‘That American - why is he so afraid?’

  ‘Afraid of what?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. But last night, when we got here, he was waiting for us by his tent with a gun in his hand. He was terribly pleased to see us. I think he’s frightened to be here by himself.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Julie said. ‘I would be myself.’

  They were both of them looking up towards the gorge. Then Karen began to collect the blankets and fold them. Julie went to help her and I walked up the track into the gorge. Water was pouring in a cascade over the lip of the lake. It was a violent brick red. The whole gorge was full of the sound of water seeping down from above and it was cold and dank despite the noonday heat of the sun. The bulldozers stood idle. There was no sign of Jan or Ed White. But the rubble had been cleared from the base of the cliff to expose a round opening from which a cloud of rock dust drifted. It was like the entrance to a cave. ‘Jan!’ I shouted. ‘Jan!’ There was no answer, but back from the wall of the gorge opposite came the echo -Jan! Jan!

  I walked towards the entrance to the mine. A little pile of clothing lay beside a plain deal box which was marked in red - explosives: Danger - Handle with Care. The top of it had been ripped off to expose cartridges of dynamite with slow-match fuses. The dust was thick by the shaft entrance, hanging like an iridescent cloud where the sunlight struck through from above. There was the sound of a stone shifting and Ed White appeared, staggering under the weight of a rock he was carrying. ‘Oh, it’s you, Latham.’ He dropped the rock on to a pile they had made just outside the entrance. ‘I thought I heard somebody call.’ He glanced up at the cliff top on the far side of the gorge, and then he gave a quick, nervous hitch to his trousers and came over. He was stripped to the waist and the dust had caked on the sweat of his body in a white film. He had his gun fastened to his belt. ‘Well, we’ve made some progress since yesterday. We’ve cleared the entrance and we’re working on the rock falls now. But we need some local labour. Wade thought you might help there. You know the language.’